


Your Face Says It All

by xysabridde



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, crackfic, metafic, xysabridde
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xysabridde/pseuds/xysabridde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was watching telly with my dad and this ad came up: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=chLA0peskfE&feature=player_embedded Inspiration ahoy. Sam's morning routine goes a bit skew-whiff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Face Says It All

It wasn’t hard for Sam to be in the bathroom before Gene. Gene was a lazy bugger, a chronic snoozer and lie-in-enjoyer, and ever since Gene had moved in Sam had enjoyed taking advantage of the few minutes of quiet and relaxation in the flat pre making Gene’s tea and breakfast and getting the both of them their clothes for work. He knew he was indulging the bastard, Gene was a grown man and fully able to do these things for himself, but Gene couldn’t be trusted not to sleep until noon or set the flat on fire making his own food (and had proven himself more than capable of both as well). Besides, he had other ways of thanking Sam.

Sam hummed Goodbye Yellow Brick Road to himself as he turned the shower off and stepped outside, combing his hair and wrapping himself in the large brown towel pre-warmed on the radiator. He had a bowl of fresh(ish) muesli waiting for him in the cupboard, and only brown bread in the bread bin so Gene would be forced to eat wholemeal or nothing. They had a murder suspect in the cells, they would be getting kudos from the Super for getting the case all wrapped up so quickly, and Litton was off on extended leave after a suspicious fire in his in-tray which Sam suspected Gene’s cigarette might have had something to do with. Not that he especially minded who was to blame, he thought with a grin as he picked up his razor and started lathering his cheeks with shaving foam.

From the groaning, creaking sounds coming from the bedroom, it seemed as though Gene might finally be waking up; Sam smiled to himself, shaving off the scraps of stubble from his top lip and sloshing his razor in the sink, peering at himself in the mirror. Skin could do with a bit of moisturising. Gene would laugh at him, but it was better than being all wrinkled.

Maybe he could get some on his way home. Say it was for his girlfriend.

“Morning,” Gene said behind him, right in his ear; Sam jumped, swerving round, a hand clapping to his chest. Jesus, the bastard could be sneaky at times.

“Don’t do that! Morning to you too. Sleep well?”

“Your face says it all,” Gene said brightly, sweeping a comb off the sink and smoothing his hair back. Sam’s eyebrows climbed his forehead.

“What does my face say about ‘ow you slept? An’ if this is some stupid joke about me givin’ you-”

“When you’re late…”

“Gene, it’s eight o’clock, we’ve got an hour before we’re due in-”

“When you win!”

“Win? I- Gene, were you watchin’ yer pint last night?”

“When you meet friends.”

“We’ll be goin’ into CID. Ray’s as much my friend as Paul Raymond is the Pope’s. Gene, did you ‘ave a strange dream or something-”

“When you’re lost.”

“Jesus, you don’t know the ‘alf of it.”

“And when a long day ends.”

“Every day’s a long day when I ‘ave to put up with you. What is this about, sounds like an advert or something-”

“Your face says it all.”

“OK- what the bloody ‘ell is goin’ on ‘ere? What’s ‘appened to yer voice? Why d’you sound like yer from London? I’m goin’ to call Phyllis an’ ask ‘er to-”

“Take better care of it with Dove Men Plus Moisturiser,” Gene grinned, pulling a small, sleek pot out of his pocket and squeezing white gel from it onto his hand until it spilled over onto the floor.

“GENE HUNT DOES NOT BLOODY MOISTURISE!” Sam shrieked.

“Our unique formula keeps skin feeling hydrated all day…”

Sam ran, screaming, out of the flat.

-0-0-

“Worked even better than I was expecting. You should’ve seen his face, John! Might actually slip back and do it all over again-”

John Simm sighed heavily, yanking the door of the TARDIS open and pulling Philip out before his friend could head back anywhere else. He only had a couple more minutes to revise the lines for his next scene, and even if he did have a time machine on hand, he’d rather not have to go through all the bother of persuading the Doctor to let him borrow it again; the man seemed to think he was someone else, it was more than a little disturbing.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun. Don’t you have to be off killing corrupt police officers or crying in churches or something?”

Philip glared at him. “Leave Quinn alone or I’ll come round your house and stamp on all your toys. Have fun with that lot in there, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah… er, Guv?”

“Mm?”

“What did you do with the real Gene?”

“Tied him up, popped him in a cupboard. He’s had worse.”

“Oh, right. You, er, did remember to let him back out afterwards…?”

This time, Phil’s face really did say it all, as it fell faster than Sam Tyler had.

“Ah, shit… quick, quick, before they get back and realise it actually works!”


End file.
